In the Heart of the Dark Wood

by Billy Coffey

  “You said we were just camping.”

  “There’s something you gotta understand,” Zach said. He inched closer. Allie could see the black outline of his face. “You have to trust me here, Allie. I know what I’m doing. You can handle all the searching and whatever, but when it comes to being safe, you have to let me take the lead. I ain’t saying that because you’re a girl. I’m saying it because I’m a Barnett. Jesus went for forty days without nothing to eat or drink. He made it okay, even with the devil there. We’ll get by fine with half a candy bar and a couple swallows of juice.”

  Allie frowned. She hadn’t stepped foot in church since her momma left (one of the prerequisites of being fallen away, Bobby had told her), but she remembered the stories well enough. Sure, Jesus had made it okay. Mostly because He was God and not a kid, and the angels had been there with Him. Allie peered up through the tangle of branches above. She saw only black mixed with hazy moonlight.

  So they ate. Supper that first night was a Snickers bar and two swallows of apple juice, which ended up being divided three ways instead of just two because neither of them could drink in front of Sam. Zach blessed his bites before tossing them in his mouth. Allie didn’t. Sam leaned his nose in, smelling.

  “You can’t eat this, Sam,” Allie said. “Chocolate’ll ruin your insides.”

  The dog whimpered. Allie nearly relented. In the end, she turned and swallowed her part nearly whole. The meal was finished in less than ten seconds. It was no masterpiece.

  “Fire should be easy enough,” Zach told her. “We get a fire, this here’ll be like vacation.”

  “You got any matches?”

  Zach smirked and shook his head. He pulled the knife from his pocket. “Don’t need none. Come on. You go gather up some wood. Don’t matter what it is, just make sure it’s plenty small. Then get some bigger chunks too. I’ll get the rest.”

  They crawled out from beneath the pine. Sam raised his head and humphed twice before settling back to sleep. Not far from the pine stood a withering cedar. Zach snapped off the first three good branches he could find and peeled two handfuls of bark from the trunk. Allie returned with an armful of fallen oak and some smaller pine branches.

  “That’ll do,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “Gonna make a fire Indian-style. Daddy showed me how.”

  He rubbed the cedar bark into a fluffy pile in his hands, then gathered what Allie had found. They cleared a spot in front of the pine, where Zach arranged the wood into a teepee shape around the cedar bark and a clump of pine needles. He slid a hand down one of the cedar branches, measuring a straight section an inch thick and ten inches long, then broke it against his knee. Allie watched as Zach tapered both ends into a spindle with his knife. He set that aside and split another branch, making sure the length and width would work, then used his blade to flatten both sides and carve a small hole in the middle. It took less time to shape another chunk small enough to fit in his palm, this one carved with a small hole in the center as well. He fished out one of his bootlaces and tied it to both ends of a three-foot section of branch, then wrapped the lace around the spindle. The process took perhaps twenty minutes all told, but Zach was sweating by the end.

  “There,” he said. “All done. Just gotta drill the sockets.”

  “Can I help?” Allie asked.

  “No, just sit easy. I’ll get it.”

  He rested his right knee on the ground and placed his left foot across the flattened branch. One end of the spindle went into the small hole in the center, the other into the handhold. Zach braced the handhold against his shin and, careful to keep the spindle perpendicular, began drawing the bow forward and back in long, steady strokes. The air filled with the sweet smell of burning cedar. Moonlight trickled through the pines, catching Zach’s pale face. Sweat fell from under his hat in thin, tiny streams. He stopped after a few minutes and coughed.

  “It’s ready,” he said. “All I gotta do now’s cut the notch.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just tired’s all.”

  He did look tired, probably just as tired as Allie thought she looked herself. But there was more than that. Zach looked sick too.

  “I gotta go to the bathroom.” Allie bent her head, couldn’t look at him. “I ain’t been all day.”

  “Just don’t go far. Fire’ll be ready when you get back.”

  Zach watched but said nothing as Allie ducked back under the pine. Sam perked his head up and wagged his tail.

  “You stay here, Samwise,” she said.

  She grabbed her backpack and wiggled out, wondering where to go. Sticking close to camp wouldn’t do, but nor did Allie want to risk losing Zach in the night. The sound of the bow moving the spindle was loud enough, though, and she believed she could use that the same way Zach had used Sam’s barks. Allie shouldered her pack and moved slowly, keeping her hands outstretched to ward off any prickly branches. The meadow lay ahead. It was exactly the place Allie didn’t want to go, but the moon shone stronger there, and she needed the light. She crouched along the edge of the tree line and bent her head down and away, shielding her eyes from the screaming tree.

  Moonlight caught the plastic bubble over the compass. Allie tilted it up to see the needle holding steady at three o’clock, just as she thought it would. She turned to face the tree (still keeping her eyes away) and watched as the needle swept up to twelve. That was where the compass meant them to go. At least there was that. So long as the needle worked, Allie didn’t consider them lost. Mislaid, maybe. Turned around, in Zach’s words. But people were lost only when they didn’t have direction.

  The backpack fell. Allie fished out one of the packs Miss Howard had brought and looked around to make sure no one was watching. She unbuttoned her jeans. The cold was like a knife against her skin as she squatted. That chore now complete, another problem presented itself. What was Allie supposed to do with . . . it? She couldn’t just leave it there in the middle of the field. Zach might spot it the next day, what with his wilderness eyes. Even if he didn’t, Allie felt sure Sam’s nose would find it. And what would that bring? Enough barks and growls and yips to wake the dead, that’s all.

  “Dumb old dog’d probably want to carry it around like a chew toy,” she whispered.

  She bent to the ground and tried to dig a small hole with her fingers. The soil was too hard. In the end, there was no choice but to bury the pad as far as possible beneath the grass and cover it with a nearby rock.

  The screeching of Zach’s fire maker faded from inside the trees. Allie stood, meaning to head back before she lost the sound, then stopped. She’d forgotten to keep her eyes from the oak, and of course it’s always the things we promise to ignore that we end up seeing clearest of all. The tree appeared bigger in the night, if such a thing were possible. Its limbs were bathed in shadows that gave them the illusion of reaching out as far as the meadow was wide. A dark mass leaked through the tentacles in the tree’s top—the faraway hill, Allie supposed. She was too preoccupied to be sure. The rotten part in the tree’s middle was what concerned her. It had gone hidden. Not because of the darkness, but because of the moonlight streaming down behind. A breeze fluttered through the night, building as it swirled over the meadow’s far side before rattling the few dead leaves remaining on the oak. From there that wind became a wave rolling to where Allie stood. It was as if the meadow were infested by a million tiny things, all of them marching for her. A wave of cold rushed over Allie as the breeze reached her, and with it came an awareness that felt as real as anything she had ever known.

  She was not alone.

  The wind passed, moving from the meadow on into the scrub, but Allie had gone rigid. She stared out past the screaming oak, willing her eyes to penetrate the woods beyond, and in that darkness came a voice that spoke three words:

  I See You

  Allie swallowed and took a step back. “What?” she asked. The mere sound of her voice made her flinch. Softer, she adde
d, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Silence again, as though the forest was gathering its breath. The moon shone through the top of the oak, and those long limbs reached out, warning her away. The wind, had to be. Allie wanted to call out again, but the primal part of her spoke up once more and said if she did that, if she made only a peep, something would answer. Something bad.

  She crouched to the ground and gathered her backpack, then scurried through the trees. It was thick in there and quiet. No screech of Zach’s fire tools, no bark from Sam. No Something in the dark.

  “Zach?” she whispered. “Zach.”

  From just ahead came a faint, “Over here.”

  Allie followed the voice and realized she’d reached their camp only when she nearly tripped over Zach’s foot. She groped for his arm and pulled him beneath the tree. Sam jumped, nearly barked. Allie silenced him. Zach tried to speak. She silenced him too.

  “Someone’s out there,” she whispered.

  “Where?”

  “In the meadow.”

  Zach slid himself halfway from under the tree before Allie pulled him back.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “Maybe it’s help.”

  “It ain’t help.”

  “How d’you know?”

  “Remember when we walked through the olden woods? What you said about it not feeling right? That’s how I felt.”

  All she could see of Zach were the faint outlines of his eyes. But he didn’t try to leave the pine now, and Allie took that as a sign that maybe he believed her. She felt Sam stir and gathered him into her arms, holding him tight.

  “You sure you saw something?” he asked.

  “I didn’t see anything. I heard it.”

  “Maybe it was just the wind. You know how you are with the wind, Allie. The woods play tricks sometimes.” It was his teaching voice again. “That’s probably all it was. Maybe it was just a deer or something. Plenty deer around. Remember that track we saw? Lots of critters scurry around in the night, even in winter.”

  “You sure?” she asked.

  “Sure I’m sure.”

  That made Allie feel some better. Maybe it had all been just a trick, just her mind getting all wonky from having so little to eat and drink and having to pull that out of her underwear in the middle of the cold woods. Yes, sure. It would be enough to make anyone hear anything.

  “Where’s the fire?” she asked.

  Zach didn’t answer at first. Allie thought he hadn’t heard and was about to ask again when he mumbled, “Wouldn’t take. Got a coal a couple times, but it fell apart as soon as I tried to get it in the tinder.”

  He was hurt. Allie knew that, and she knew it wasn’t like the scrapes and nicks they’d gotten from the brambles. This was a pain left by something else, and it pricked deeper.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I ain’t cold anyways. It’s nice in here.”

  “We’ll gather up some needles,” he said. “Make some walls to seal in the empty places around the bottom. I’ll get a fire tomorrow. It’ll be easier in the daylight.”

  “I know you will.”

  “Here.” He offered a handful of what looked to Allie like wood from the tree over them. “We had our meal, now it’s time for dessert. It’s all I was able to gather up. The inside bark on a pine’s good enough to eat.”

  “I ain’t eating no wood, Zach Barnett. I ain’t no beaver.”

  “Come on.” He put some in his mouth and chewed it, wincing as it went down. “See? It ain’t no Snickers bar, but it’s passing fair.”

  Seventeen miles away, Marshall and Grace had returned to the Granderson home and found it empty still. Marshall grabbed for the phone when it rang, thinking it had to be his little girl. It was Jake instead, telling him everyone was meeting downtown. There was no good-bye, no “See you there” or “You keep your chin up, Marshall.” Just a click on the line.

  Grace asked if there was news. Marshall told her nothing. She was on the couch, one hand over her eyes and the other turning her blond ponytail in quiet circles. She tried talking to him, telling him it would be okay. Wanting to believe that herself. Some part of her had long feared things would lead to this. Allie was such a strong girl, such a broken girl—wounded just as much as her father. As Grace thought on all of those things and felt the agony in the man across from her, the present mixed with the past, and she said it would be okay, Hank; they would be okay.

  “Hank?” Marshall asked.

  Grace took her hand from her eyes. “What?”

  “You just called me Hank, Grace.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “You did.” He took a step forward and leveled a shaky finger her way. “That what you think, Grace? Huh?”

  Grace’s voice shook. “No, Marshall, that’s—”

  “You think I’m gonna turn into your old man? That it? Think I’m gonna go nuts—”

  “—Don’t you say that, Marshall—”

  “—and end up like him?”

  His cheeks were hot, his lips trembling, but Marshall could not give himself over to the rage inside him, not with Allie gone and Grace holding her hands over her head to hide her tears. He turned, leaving her there, and went to his bedroom. His work clothes smelled of oil and sweat. Marshall pulled a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt from the closet, along with a mostly full bottle. He’d have to go back to town, look for Allie. And he would. He just needed a drink first.

  He didn’t know which was worse—that Allie had run away or that she’d gone and gotten herself lost because of that stupid statue. He should have gone out there with her the night before as he’d promised, made sure the Mary was weighted down good. It had been cold and snowing, and the wind had been up. Allie hated the wind. It scared her. But instead he’d gone into the bedroom after dinner to draw that curtain down a little, and by then Bobby was there, and Bobby had enough booze to draw that curtain down as tight as it would go. That was something Allie couldn’t understand. He’d had to be strong for the both of them ever since Mary died, and there was only so much strength in a man.

  He sat on the bed and turned the bottle up. He had to keep the old nerves calm. Just a couple nips from the bottle. Three at the most.

  11

  Allie finished her handful of pine bark (which not only tasted like sandpaper but also went down her throat about as well as a doorknob) while Zach did the same. The remaining juice box tempted them. In the end, Zach told Allie to put it back in her bag. What words passed between them were few that night. He huddled close against her. Sam lay between them. For a long while, there was only the sound of the wind through the scrub and the occasional hoot of an owl.

  “Zach?” Allie asked.

  “What?”

  “You sleepin’?”

  “Can’t be sleepin’ if I just asked you what.”

  “I can’t doze, Zach. I got the creepsomnia.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You know, when you can’t get to sleep because everything’s creepy.” Allie paused and sent the word over her teeth again, nice and slow. “Creep . . . SOM . . . nia.”

  “Where’d you hear that word?”

  “Just now,” she said. “I made it up.”

  “Can I use it?” Zach asked. “I kinda like that one.”

  “Sure.”

  “Allie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I got creepSOMnia.”

  Allie snorted from her place under the pine. That sound gave way to laughter. Zach joined in. It felt good to laugh, even there. Especially there.

  Sleep did in fact come to the children that night, a sleep that felt almost bottomless. Allie dreamed she stood in front of a fresh grave at Oak Lawn. A faceless crowd surrounded a small casket. Allie was crying but didn’t know why. Her daddy stood beside her. She asked him who had died. When Marshall turned his head, Allie saw it wasn’t Marshall at all. Where there should have been a face, there was only a deep, rippling shadow that answered her with three words:

 
I see you.

  December 21

  1

  Once, back before everything ended, Allie’s daddy had convinced her and her momma to go camping in the hill country outside Mattingly. “There’s nothing like being out in the middle of nature,” Marshall Granderson said, “and you’ll never sleep as good as when you’re under the stars.” Mary had been willing enough. Allie, not so much. Even then, she’d been afraid of what lurked in the mountains. Witches, maybe. Ghosts, probably. Hungry animals, for sure.

  The three of them had gone anyway, and it had been a fine time until it got dark. It was the quiet rather than the ghosts that kept Allie awake until morning. It was a stillness so pure that it made the night feel like a big hole she’d been trapped inside. That was when Allie discovered sleeping under the stars was in no way better than sleeping under a roof. The woods had probably been made for some, but certainly not for her.

  It was a similar silence that stirred Allie from a thin and restless sleep on this morning. She found herself on her back, looking up through the center of the big pine’s bones. Patches of snow clogged the outer limbs. A gray shine oozed through the topmost branches. Allie blinked and exhaled. A cloud of steam rose upward from her mouth. She shivered and rubbed her eyes, trying to decipher the light above her. What she settled on was either a very early morning or a risen sun hidden by clouds.

  Her hand found Sam’s fur. Allie closed her eyes and sank her body into the pine needles beneath her. Fragments of the previous day flooded her mind—the Mary and the compass, leaving with Zach, the olden forest. The tree.

  And there had been dreams, right?

  Yes, Allie thought, and she managed to lift her chin and then lower it in agreement. She’d been in Oak Lawn with a crowd of people, and everyone was crying. Her daddy said something to her, something Allie couldn’t remember now but had scared her then. Something that had made her scream.

  She turned her wrist over and looked at the compass. The needle held strong, pointing to three o’clock. Beyond the meadow.

  That Allie was in a strange and frightening place somehow lent her silent inventory a greater importance. She turned toward Zach. A stab of pain greeted her that began in her neck and ended in her teeth. Even moving that little bit felt like cracking ice in a tray. Zach lay huddled against her in a tight ball. At some point in the night, he’d positioned his hat as a pillow. Now it lay crumpled under his head. It was cold under the tree, maybe not as cold as it was outside but still enough to leave Allie shivering. But Zach’s face was covered with sweat. His breaths came out in short whistles.